


Flaming Death Pangolins and other Dangers

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game), Red vs. Blue
Genre: Affection, Angst, Arguing, Charr (Guild Wars), Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dragons, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Touching, Friendship, Guild Wars: Heart of Thorns, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 18:46:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10497264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: In what universe is it okay for there to not only be death pangolins, but for them to also be on fire?Tucker’s universe, apparently, and he is less than happy with that situation. He’s even less thrilled with his team’s bullheadedness when it comes to self-sacrificial bullshit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It should make sense even if you have never played Guild Wars 2. Imagine generic fantasy setting with magic and evil dragons. The Charr are giant cat-type creatures.

“This is _bullshit_!” Tucker yells as they break through the treeline and into the dense jungle. They keep running, a headlong flight, tearing through underbrush and creepers and toxic looking flowers. Behind them they can hear the roar of one of the beasts chasing them; a large bipedal lizard covered in hoary scales and spikes.

Needless to say, that would have given them a boost of speed even if Donut hadn’t cast some spell that fills Tucker’s limbs with renewed energy, allowing him to push himself into a prolonged sprint until the roars die down and the sound of vegetation being crushed fades.

It’s only once they’re left in near silence, only the ambient noise of the jungle, that they dare to stop. Tucker immediately rips his helmet off and throws it to the ground so he can run his hands through his dreadlocks, anything to work out some of the agitation itching beneath his skin. The others are similarly tense, weapons readied, magic flashing between fingers. 

“Fucking jungle why the fuck are there _death pangolins_?!” Tucker snarls, his voice rising a little. It’s anger, not fear. Absolutely not fear. “And why the fuck were they on _fire_?” Because they were bad enough on their own, in what universe is it okay that they are also on fire?  
Apparently this one. Tucker fucking hates his life.

“At least they weren’t Mordrem corrupted,” Wash rumbles.

Tucker narrows his eyes and gives the Charr a sour look. “Right, of-fucking-course you know exactly how things could be worse.”

Wash makes a noise that’s somewhere between a growl and a laugh but is mostly just tired. His tail lashes with the same agitation that Tucker feels. “Run enough missions through here to tell the difference.” He cocks his head, ears twitching as he listens to things beyond Tucker’s range of hearing. “We should keep moving. There’s a supply cache nearby which should be a safe place to camp overnight.”

Tucker stoops to grab his helmet and nods. “Let’s get going.”

Wash’s idea of close by turns out to be about an hour away at a quick pace, which means that the rest of them are exhausted by the time they reach the cache. 

Sarge, demonstrating all of the cunning of the Asura had had the right idea by hopping up to ride on Lopez’s shoulders. He slides down once they stop, immediately setting up construction of an array of turrets for their protection. Tucker isn’t entirely sure what they all do, and he isn’t going to ask, but they certainly look fearsome enough and they’ve saved Tucker’s life enough times that he doesn’t question it.

Simmons starts a fire and Tucker is lulled a little by the inane conversations that start up as soon as they aren’t in the middle of gross peril. The cache is located in one of those old ruins that seem to litter the jungle with disturbing frequency. It could have been a temple or a house or a fucking bathroom for all Tucker can tell. It’s the same golden stone as the city of Tarir was built from, and he wonders idly if it was built by the Exalted, or by the people who had lived here a thousand years ago. Either way, they’re gone now and all that’s left is stone half covered in vines and foliage, and sheltered by the overhanging rock.

Methodically he starts to strip off his armour. Maybe it’s dumb; from the look Wash sends him he obviously thinks so, but he’s tired and sleeping in armour is fucking uncomfortable. If they get attacked he will just have to face flaming death pangolins and spike hurling monster lizards and the massing forces of Mordremorth’s corrupted in the padded cloth and leather he wears underneath. Hell, Donut wanders around in what amounts to a bikini and hot pants and he’s still alive. What could possibly go wrong?

He stretches out once the armour has been shed, and checks himself over for any injuries. The last thing they need is for one of them to get some grisly Elder Dragon Vine Monster infected wound while they’re this far away from civilisation. There’s a few scrapes and bruises where the armour plate has dug in, and a couple of burns which sting like a bitch but aren’t bad. Not worth wasting supplies on. 

Caboose is already spark out, sprawled next to the fire with Freckles, his wolf companion, laid out next to him. That is not surprising. Tucker has seen Caboose sleep halfway up a mountain in the middle of a snowstorm. Tucker wishes that he had that ability, because right now he can’t imagine being comfortable enough to sleep, not when they’re in the heart of the enemy’s territory and he’s half expecting poison vines to burst through the ground at any moment.

He’s heard stories, okay? Rumours brought back by members of the Pact forces who’d been there when the airships crashed. Stories about people taken and transformed, about fallen allies returning as enemies, about what had happened to the Sylvari.

Great. Now he really can’t fucking sleep. 

He stands up again and looks around for a moment before spotting Wash. The Charr has wandered off a short distance, keeping watch from an outcropping of rock. He takes watch duty at every opportunity, even when there’s a whole group of them, and acts like none of them notice.

Tucker heads over in his direction, and hops up onto the rocks, making the short climb up to where Wash is crouched back on his haunches, tail twitching idly.

“Hey Wash.”

Wash turns his head, ears laid flat against his skull. “Tucker.” 

“Mind if I sit?”

Wash gestures to the spot next to him with one massive paw. “Go ahead.”

Tucker sits down next to him, cross-legged, hands resting lightly in his lap. He tilts his head back to look at the sky, but he can’t see more than a sliver of it through the thick foliage of the canopy. It makes him feel suddenly claustrophobic. they’re surrounded by trees on all sides and with Mordremorth’s corruption spilling through the area, it isn’t that unfeasible to think the tree could be listening to them.

“We should be able to reach the Pact camp tomorrow,” Wash says finally, just when Tucker was starting to suspect he’d actually fallen asleep. It’s hard to tell with the Charr. 

“Great! Then onwards towards the godsdamned dragon.”

Wash looks over at Tucker, his head tilted. “You should stay at the camp. I’ll head onwards to meet the vanguard of the Pact forces.”

“Uh, what?”

“You heard me,” Wash replies. “You’ll be safe there. All of you will be. I will go ahead.”

A sudden fury fills Tucker, righteous indignation. “What the _fuck_ Wash?! You aren’t leaving us behind.”

He pushes himself to his feet, and even then, he’s only barely taller than Wash when he’s crouching. It’s a little frustrating when he wants to be taken seriously. Sure, Wash doesn’t seem as bad, but most Charr are kind of condescending assholes and you need every advantage that you can get with them.

“You do have a… a child to think of,” Wash says, face furrowing into uncertain creases as he tries to figure out exactly what to call Junior.

Tucker glares. It sparks the anger higher, because fuck him trying to use Junior as an argument. “Someone’s got to keep him safe from his uh… I guess they’re relatives. I can’t just let other people die for that, and not risk myself for him. He’s a good kid.”

“He’s a dragon,” Wash says, sounding sceptical.

“He’s a good kid,” Tucker repeats. He gives Wash a hard look. “I know my own kid man. He likes stuffed toys and sports. Not raising armies of the undead and corrupting plants. He just… he just needs the chance, okay?”

Wash looks at him for a long moment before finally giving a soft huff. “As you say. But the danger will only increase. It’s better that you are all somewhere safe.”

“Like hell it is! We’re a team, Wash! We go together!”

“You could die!” Wash snarls. He stands up sharply, and even hunched over, he has more than a foot on Tucker. His ears are laid flat against his skull, fur bristling in agitation.

“So could you!” Tucker snaps back, and takes a step closer, getting right in his face. He can feel Wash’s hot breath against his face, see up close how big those fangs really are. Doesn’t matter. “Don’t you get it? We’re not here because we want to be safe. We all knew what we were getting into… okay, except maybe Caboose, and we’re in it together. We’re-“ He takes a breath, dredging up everything he knows about Charr society. Warriors every last one of them, raised to it, unlike Tucker who’d just fallen into the military by accident. “We’re your warband, Wash,” he says earnestly. He sees Wash’s ears flick in surprise and his eyes widen. “We stand with you. You don’t abandon your warband because they might get hurt.”

Wash stares at him, silent and still. Tucker isn’t sure whether he’s said the right thing, or if he should expect Wash to smack him. Even a love-tap from one of those paws hurts like a bitch. 

Finally, Wash ducks his head, looking away from Tucker. “It has been a long time since I last had a warband.” 

There’s a huge weight of hurt in the way he says it. Tucker knew that Wash had some crazy shit go on in his past; only reason for a lone Charr with the scars Wash has to team up with the erratic band of Red and Blue they’ve got going, but he’s never elaborated, never explained, and Tucker’s never asked.

He puffs himself up, trying to regain at least a couple of inches against Wash’s height. “Well, you’re stuck with us now. I know we’re not Charr, and honestly we kind of suck and have more baggage than a desert caravan, but you’re ours now. So deal with it.” He shrugs. “Besides, I’m the one with the magic sword that can supposedly defeat Elder Dragons. You might need that.”

Wash gives a nod, a curiously human gesture that’s more for Tucker’s benefit than Wash’s natural gesture. “It may be necessary, if other methods fail.”

“Right. And I’m the idiot who can wield it. And my idiots are coming with me, and we’re going with you.”

“That makes me chief idiot then,” Wash rumbles.

“Hell yeah it does,” Tucker replies and flashes Wash a grin. “So no more trying to drive us away. It’s not cool.”

“I won’t,” Wash says, with all of the solemnity of someone facing imminent death. Which isn’t exactly inaccurate. If the flaming death pangolins don’t kill them, there’s still a freaking huge and terrifying elder dragon to take care of. And Tucker knows his idiots. He knows what they’re capable of, and how much they can survive. They may not be elegant, but they sure as fuck are durable.   
And then there’s Wash.

Tucker reaches up impulsively to curl his hands against the sides of Wash’s face, hoping he isn’t about to get his hand bitten off. Wash stiffens beneath the touch, but he doesn’t pull away, and Tucker’s fingers sink into thick fur that is far softer than he had imagined it would be. Charr don’t kiss, he knows that. They don’t exactly have the lips for it, and the whole muzzle thing not really designed for making out. So Tucker tugs Wash’s head down and leans in to bump their foreheads together and then just rests there. 

He can practically feel Wash’s confusion, but he doesn’t pull away, and his paws raise to rest lightly against Tucker’s forearms. 

“Don’t die,” Tucker says earnestly. “No fucking self-sacrificial bullshit. We all go, and we all come back.” Or they all die, but that’s way less encouraging.

“Tucker…”

“I mean it. Those are the rules. You’ve got to meet Junior anyway.”

Wash startles, starts to straighten up for a second before remembering that Tucker can’t reach if he does, and then he lets out a soft breath. “I… will try. I expect the same from you though.“

“I’m not a hero,” Tucker says. He pulls back enough so Wash can see his grin. “Got too much to go home for.” And Wash is going with him if it kills him.

There’s an inhuman shriek from somewhere in the distance and they jump apart, drawing weapons. “Well,” Tucker says, “guess we get to test this hero thing sooner than expected.”

Wash bares his teeth, and okay, this time Tucker knows it’s a smile. He hefts his great sword, swings it over his shoulder like it’s fucking nothing. “Let’s show them who to fear.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”


End file.
